To Catch A Dream

Bailey Part Fourteen

It's lunch, and I'm sitting near trash cans, not having anything to eat. Again, the same guy that tried to talk to me during the first period cowers over me. I inspect my potential enemy closely. He has hazel eyes and tousled brown hair. His high cheekbones make his face more prominent and defined. When are enemies allowed to be so handsome?

"Hi," he says, his voice is shaky and soft. A sign of weakness.

I stare at him, and ask, "What do you want?"

"I just want to be your friend," he responds genuinely.

"I don't respond well to 'friends'. I don't need anyone, neither do I want anyone. I'm strong enough on my own," I say, drowning myself in my own lies.

"I hate to break it to you, but that's not how it works. I've had quite a few friends in my lifetime, and most of my happiest memories have been made with them. No offense to my parents or anything. They're pretty cool too. Great. Now I'm rambling." he stammers. I can't help but roll my eyes. The ONE time you want a guy to be serious. This is why I don't associate myself with disfigured creatures. I shudder internally.

I just glare at him and scowl. What the hell does he want from me? I cannot afford to have anyone grow too close to me. It'll only hurt me in the end. One of the most valuable lessons my dear father taught me.

"I'm sorry, but whether you like it or not, I'm going to break that wall you put up to protect yourself because I am heartbroken and I need someone to help me and I am rambling again because you are very pretty." When he states this, he looks at me intensely with those heartbreaking hazel eyes. I have to look away. There is a pang in my heart. Someone wants me? As I immerse myself into these thoughts, his voice cuts the silence. He stares at me.

"Why aren't you eating?," he asks, and from what I can tell, out of innocent curiosity.

"Why do I have to eat at the designated time this school gives to me?" I ask him pointedly. He stares again.

"Why is your face covered with scars and bruises? You remind me of one of those female superheroes in Marvel who've been through the worst," he says very bluntly.

Rude much?

"First of all, what's with all the questions? What am I, your therapist? And what do you mean what happened to my face'?" I scowl with disgust.

" No-No. I didn't mean it in that way. It's just that you have so many bruises and cuts on you. What happened?" His voice is so genuine, so sweet, that it breaks my heart.

"Just, please. Please go away!" I plead.

He stays planted, so I get up and walk away, into my trail of misery, which for me, never seems to end, no matter how far away from the cause I get. I wish it would. I wish I could experience the life of a normal teenage girl.